Be Careful What You Wish For

One of the reasons why TSO and I wanted to take a winter rental on Cape Cod was to see whether we could stand a winter in Massachusetts. Given the nature of this experiment, Cape Cod was an odd choice, as I understand that winter here tends to be more temperate than winter on Mainland Massachusetts. 

We arrived at our beach house on Saturday just after 3 p.m. It's now Monday morning; it's nowhere near winter; and the experiment is suggesting that the real question is whether we can even stand an autumn in Massachusetts. 

As predicted, the remnants of Hurricane Ian kicked into high gear on Saturday, just as we pulled our U-Haul and car into the assigned parking spots for our beach house. As we stood outside the U-Haul, in the pounding rain and what felt like gale force winds, I couldn't help but feel somewhat Joad-like, minus Grandma in her rocking chair on the roof of the truck, as we literally faced several inconvenient facts about our beach house, which we had previewed via Zoom, as the rush to get our house ready for sale precluded a trip north for a proper showing. 

A Very, Very, Very Fine House

First, we learned that our dwelling is located atop a dune that reminds me of Ski Mountain, which was the hill (elevation 120 feet) where I learned to ski as a child. 

Ski Mountain

Second, we learned that a lot can change between the time a house is shown and the time one moves into it. The agent told us in July that we could access a path (only on move-in day) on the side of the house to "pull right up" and unload our stuff with little inconvenience. As we stood in the street facing the beach house at the top of Ski Mountain, we noted that there was no path to the right. Therefore, it must be on the left. We were wrong.

Not a Path Anymore

Well, we weren't exactly wrong, but, what had once been a path between houses is now a construction site. I do remember her mentioning a house being built next door, which would be finished on the outside by mid-October. (As it turns out, there are two houses being built next door, and neither will be finished by Mid-October.) OK. We were now faced with finding an alternate route. To the right of our house was a different way, but it would not be easy. It was not a path, and we could not pull right up to the house.

We were able to pull right up to the bottom of Ski Mountain, directly next to some steps that lead to a ramp that leads to a boardwalk that leads to the beach house.

The Steps 

The Ramp

The Boardwalk to the Beach House
(Note U-Haul in the Distance)

It took Jim and our son-in-law, Lou, hours to haul all the bags and boxes from the truck up the steps, the ramp, the boardwalk, and more steps into the house. My job was to unpack and organize, which will take me days!

This Scene Reminds Me of the "Before" Shot of Our Garage

All through the move and all day yesterday, the rain pounded, and the wind howled ferociously. The bay was filled with whitecaps as far as the eye could sea. Closer to shore, the sea curled, broke, and crashed onto the beach, reminding me of summers at the Jersey shore on the Atlantic Ocean. The chairs slid across the deck as though being re-arranged by ghosts who wanted a better view. No pictures, or even videos, can capture the fury of the mere remnants of Hurricane Ian that were passing us by.

This is Cape Cod Bay

On Saturday night, Jim and Lou went to Hyannis to return the U-Haul. It was dark, and I was alone. I could no longer see outside, but I could hear the wind continue to shriek and bellow. It was as though a group of very frustrated demons were encircling the house in a rage because they couldn't get in. Meanwhile, the crashing surf sounded like it was getting closer and closer to the point where I feared water and demons would burst through the deck doors and end my retirement -- and me -- on Day One. 

Jim and Lou eventually returned, and we all survived the night. Yesterday morning, after mass, Jim took Lou home, again leaving me here alone. I could now see what was going on outside. Apparently, the ghosts just couldn't be happy with their re-arrangement of the deck chairs. In their frustration, they must have thrown them against the railing. The howling was even louder, and now it sounded like things were being thrown at the house. 

I decided to go down to the beach and try to capture the fierceness of my surroundings. It was difficult accessing the beach because the stairs were covered in sand. With each step, my shoes filled with more and more granules of summer goodness. LOL!

 

Where Are The Stairs?

The wind wrapped its way into the hood of my jacket, throwing sandy mist in my face, as it tried to convert me to a human sail and carry me away. I realized almost immediately that being outside was a dangerous proposition, as I thought of a news story over the summer about a woman who had been impaled by a beach umbrella that the wind had ripped out of the sand and thrown into her chest. Did I really want to die on Day Two of my retirement at the hands of a beach umbrella -- or worse?

I'm Glad I Wasn't Here When
These Stairs Landed
(Note Bent Over Sea Grass)

I decided to return to shelter. As I approached the still-intact stairs leading up to our beach house, I bent over to pick up a pretty green stone. When I did, the wind whipped up under my jacket and pushed me forward. I don't know how I didn't fall over or get swept up into the vortex of invisible moaning banshees.

By evening, the sky began to clear, and Jim and I looked forward to a calmer Monday.

Blue Skies Peeking Through Dark Clouds

We shall see....

By the way, Jim estimates the elevation of our beach house at at approximately 20 feet above sea level. It still looks like Ski Mountain to me.